Chapter Twenty-Five
Blade
I fucking stared.
Then I ran the trace again.
Another ten seconds, and I was looking at the same damn result.
“ Fucking Christ .” Tossing the cell into the center console, I backed out of the parking space.
The damn thing rang again.
Not bothering to look at the screen, I answered through the Range Rover’s Bluetooth. “What?”
November’s voice came through the sound system. “Alpha needs an assist.”
“Tell Alpha to find someone else.” Fucking Baghdad?
The hacker didn’t drop it. “You’re the only one on-site.”
Goddamn November. “You’re on-site. You assist.” The Airman knew how to shoot. Not that the crazy fuck needed to. With a few keystrokes, he could nail your ass with a precision drone strike. He was also lethal with a chair leg, but that was another fucking story.
“I’m overwatch,” November stated with his signature monotone that never fucking changed.
“What else is new?” November ate, drank, and slept at his computer. If he wasn’t in the command room, he was behind his laptop, mic’ed up from wherever the hell he lived. “I’m out.” I headed toward the exit. “Get someone else.”
“You haven’t left the parking garage.”
Invasive fucking prick. “What’s the assignment?”
November hesitated. Then he called me on my bullshit. “That matters?”
Christ. “No.” I hit the brakes, backed down the exit ramp, and reversed into a parking spot. “Parameters?” Throwing the SUV into Park, I reached behind my seat for my MK 12.
“Possible client issue. Alpha’s coming down now. Texting the address.”
My cell pinged, and I abandoned grabbing my sniper rifle before glancing at the geo location. “Since when do we have client issues in Miami Beach?” Fuck this bullshit. I was a trigger, not a negotiator.
“Since today.” I heard November typing. “Twenty seconds. North elevator.”
“Copy, but I’m calling bullshit.” AES was the US government’s top military defense contractor. Alpha didn’t have the Secretary of Defense on speed dial, a fleet of Gulfstream G650s, five global locations, and almost every breathing former SEAL on payroll for sport. Alpha was SOCOM’s third option, and AES’s playground was wherever bad shit was going down. Usually in the Sandbox, and almost always involving terrorists and HVTs. Most of our assignments came from FUBAR Ops that JSOC either didn’t want to dirty their hands with or take accountability for.
The other small percentage of AES’s business was rich pricks who managed to get themselves kidnapped for ransom. K&Rs were their own special brand of fucked, but Alpha hadn’t lost a client yet.
Correction, his team hadn’t.
Alpha didn’t step into the field unless he had to, and he rarely met clients. He sent his right-hand man, Zulu, which made this bullshit November was feeding me even more suspicious.
Ignoring my last comment, November stuck to his overwatch script. “Alpha’s exiting now. He’ll read you in.” He hung up, and Trefor stepped off the elevator.
Wearing one of his bullshit custom suits, the former Team leader got in on the passenger side and reached for his seat belt. “November tell you where we’re going?”
“Yeah.” I drove toward the exit ramp. “What’s this really about?” Alpha was fucking lethal. Behind a scope or desk, it didn’t matter. “You don’t need me for a potential client issue.”
He scanned the Miami midday traffic as I pulled out of the garage. “Is that what November told you this was?”
Stopping for a light, I glanced at him. We’d all been trained with the same damn tactics, techniques, and procedures, but every Team guy had their tells. I knew what mine were. I knew Alpha’s. I knew every fucking tell for all the Tier Ones I’d served with because I watched for that shit.
It was a matter of life or death on the battlefield.
Not that I ever said a fucking word to any of them. Talk was cheap, and in general, I hated it. Leaked intel was the same damn thing as spilled blood—you didn’t get that shit back. Which was why I didn’t open my mouth unless absolutely necessary.
Alpha’s bullshit evasion, answering a question with a question—it was telling enough.
Keeping my mouth shut, I drove through the light.